Down and dirty

During my first month in Berlin, the strongest impression I got about the character of the city was that it was unhinged: unpredictable, weird, and a little on the violent side. Guidebooks say that Berlin is “gritty” which also reads as “real” which then becomes a marketable tourist attraction in itself.

Admittedly, my view of the city has been skewed by location (Kreuzberg) commitments (spending a lot of time on the public transport to get everywhere) and circumstance (being unable to communicate and fresh to a country makes you notice a lot more, especially the freaky stuff). Here’s a few notable occurrences that have led me to believe that things here are a bit, well – perhaps “gritty” is the best word? Suggestions?

• The ever-present ‘Securitas’ security staff at Kottbusser Tor station with their buzz-cuts, navy jumpsuits and muzzled Alsatians.

• An aggressive, soot-stained Berlin magpie (a bigger, meaner and morally questionable version of the Australian variety) picking through the carcass of a sparrow on the U-Bahn platform.

• An extraordinary brawl in Kaisers Supermarket checkout queue between a babyfaced teenager on crutches and a rough-looking bleached blonde woman buying two litres of beer. I tried to disappear into the cigarette counter as words turned to fists and other braver shoppers stepped in to intervene.

• Becoming well acquainted with the Doppler effect as a procession of firetrucks, ambulances and police cars speed around Kreuzberg at all hours of the day/night.

• The pool of blood on the faux-marble footpath on Tauentzien Str. (the slick franchise strip near where I had my German lessons) which darkened from bright red to maroon in the time it took us to learn about the past perfect tense.

• The prostitutes prowling around on Oranienburger Str. on Monday morning, singularly clad in white thigh-high boots, lace-up corsets and super-duper-wonderbras.

• The sedate-looking man at the bus station with a large grey African parrot swinging from his shoulder.

• Men snorting amphetamines off their fists on the top floor of Kunsthaus Tacheles, eyeballing the other patrons and crashing into everyone on the dancefloor.
  

But that was during March and the dregs of winter. It’s now April and spring, and it seems like the genetic makeup of Berlin has changed entirely. Trees are blossoming, birds are singing, people are sunbathing nude, love is in the air. Perhaps the dirtier Berlin has gone into hibernation.